Like Real People Do
by scifiromance
Summary: Voyager has done the impossible, returned home. But for the people who invested so much in the journey, who loved the family, facing the reality of life in the Alpha Quadrant proves daunting... C/7. Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**A/n: Thanks to my beta, NikkiB1973 for her support for this story. I do not own Star Trek: Voyager.**

* * *

The small portrait of innumerable individual stars that was framed by the window was as consistent, as silent and unreachably compelling, as any she'd ever seen in the Delta Quadrant, either contorted by a warp field or not. Of course, in a detached sense, it was an unremarkable patch, as easily catalogued by Astrometrics sensors as any other, but for her crew, what she seeing out there was special. These stars formed the sky above their home.

The Wildmans' quarters, mid-ship port, were not currently orientated towards Earth, though its Moon was visible. That moon, the rough pearl to the planet's 'big blue marble' controlled the tides of the seas most of this crew had played in as children. She never had, or at least couldn't recall ever doing so. Naomi would still have the opportunity, if she didn't consider herself too mature for such things. She felt her breath catch, and began to twist her head away from the view that brought her less pleasure every time she risked looking out. However, the distinctive flash of phaser fire briefly burning her corneas commanded her attention. Instinctively, she braced herself for the impact, protectively moving closer to Naomi's bed, but the shot wasn't aimed for Voyager. The 'culprit' vessel drifted, almost serenely, past and unbidden she thought of Lieutenant Paris' story of the Titanic and the iceberg. NCC-71847. U.S.S. Churchill. Federation classification: Galaxy class. Engaged in the battle of Sector 012, en-route to Sector 001, also known as Wolf 359. Elimination assigned to Cube 11256, Cube 11257 and Sphere 11309. 453 individuals assimilated, 367 killed prior to assimilation. Approximately 200 individuals ejected in emergency pods, deemed irrelevant. Vessel eliminated. Serious damage sustained by Sphere 11309, 3407 drones deactivated. Minor damage sustained by Cube 11256, 987 drones deactivated...

She blinked, leadenly. Exhaustion washed over her as the memories, the stream of utterly detached data, repeated itself through her mind as an echo. Her fingers dug deep into her skin, trying and failing to flatten the gooseflesh that had erupted as she started at the vessel. NCC-71847-B. Her eyesight had been tricked by her insistent Borg recall, this vessel was a replacement, merely christened with the same name. How many of the original incarnation's crew were serving abroad her? How many were haunted by those living people who would never be replaced in their loved ones' hearts as their ship had been replaced by Starfleet? Watching how this new ship flanked Voyager, just as, she knew, there was another vessel on the starboard side, she realised they were scrutinising the area for the debris of the Sphere. The Sphere Voyager had used, like the mythical Trojan Horse, to traverse the transwarp conduit. Blasting fragments with phasers was a waste of energy, it was gone, 'blown to smithereens' to use Ensign Kim's phrase, useless to the Collective. Perhaps ensuring that even those 'smithereens' had been eliminated was a reassuring act for Starfleet and the crew of the Churchill. Who was she to deny them that? Her experience wasn't exactly a testament to the idea that the threat of the Collective could be underestimated. The Federation couldn't afford to emulate Troy, even with Voyager as a real gift. She shuddered, arms tightening around herself as she remembered that Starfleet wasn't averse to beaming 'intact' drones aboard for medical research... The Churchill's approach, at that moment, struck her as cleaner, unambiguous. There wouldn't be any picking of Borg bones today. Voyager's return was a triumph...

"Seven?" Naomi's voice pulled her firmly back into the interior of the ship rather than its exterior. "Are you okay?"

"Naomi Wildman." She stated, more sharply than she intended as she tried to supress her start of fright and turned composedly to meet the girl's surprisingly alert gaze. Had she even been asleep? "I am fine." She answered belatedly, shakily. Naomi's astute eyes flicked momentarily to the foot of the bed, fine brows drawn down in concern, and Seven saw she had sat down on the bed without realising. "I apologise." She murmured as she sprang back up onto her feet then turned back to smooth the corner of duvet she'd mussed. "Did I wake you?"

"No." Naomi replied firmly, "How could I possibly sleep right now?" Seven noticed she tried to emphasise her point with a roll of the eyes she'd come to associate with adolescents. "We're in the orbit of Earth Seven, _Earth_!"

Her tone, a mixture of incredulity and curious excitement, was familiar enough that Seven relaxed slightly, her lips quirking upwards. "I am well aware of that." She reminded her wryly, unconsciously pausing for a deep breath before continuing, "But I am also aware that two full detachments of Starfleet engineers and scientists are going to be arriving at 0600 hours to conduct a comprehensive survey of Voyager. As it is now 0302 hours, I suggest you sleep now, while the ship is undisturbed." Her sense of accuracy made her almost retract the last comment, Voyager was far from undisturbed, the celebrations were now in their eighth hour, but she knew that giving Naomi any fresh reminder of that would banish sleep from the child's mind and replace it with resentment at what she could be missing out on. It would be conveniently forgotten that she'd only been brought here because she'd been falling asleep on her feet in the Mess Hall earlier.

Naomi echoed Seven by inhaling sharply at the mention of the upcoming Starfleet onslaught. Her face went defensively blank, unreadable, for an instant. It was an expression learned in trauma that lent her face an unnerving maturity. "I guess." She agreed, voice tight, before she shrugged and her face lightened again. "But I'm awake now so…" The covers were thrown back to prove her point and she sat up fully in bed, looking around her. "What were you looking at? Can we finally see Earth from…" Her eyes bugged out comically as they found Voyager's companion vessel. "Cool! Is that a Galaxy class ship? Is it the Enterprise? It could be ferrying the top brass to see the Captain…"

Seven had to wonder where Naomi had picked up the term 'top brass' but dismissed it as an irrelevance as she fielded Naomi's other questions, all asked in one breath, no doubt to make room in her mind for more. "Yes, it's a Galaxy class vessel, but not the Enterprise." She told her quickly, "As for Starfleet's 'top brass', I believe they will wait for the Captain to come to them."

Naomi's face dipped in disappointment, but only momentarily. "I would've liked to see the Enterprise, it's so famous…" A smile of realisation slowly dawned on her face, "But I suppose Voyager is just as famous now." She caught Seven's tiny wince at that and her smile became reassuring, "Don't worry Seven, it won't be like with the Qomar." She hesitated thoughtfully, "Well, we might get some fan mail, I don't know, but with the fame spread around the whole crew this time, we probably won't all get a big ego like the Doctor did."

Seven felt a chuckle rise in her throat despite herself. "I would hope not." She agreed, "The Doctor merely has an unfortunate predisposition." Remembering Naomi's impressionable age, not wanting to besmirch the Doctor's reputation in her eyes, she amended, "But he learned the error of his actions in that instance."

"Yeah." Naomi conceded somewhat doubtfully, but her attention was already returning to Voyager's new neighbour in orbit. "Do you know which ship it is, if it's not the Enterprise? My Dad has met the crews of most Starfleet vessels, because so many are heading through DS9 at the moment…"

As part of the reconstruction efforts after the Dominion War, Seven silently finished. She respected Starfleet's policy of being magnanimous in victory, and she had no reason, no _right_ , on her own account to feel anything different about the fact they were extending it to the Cardassians now, but despite all that the thickness in her throat was layered with more than her guilt over the Churchill. Were Starfleet prioritising Chakotay's homeworld or leaving it behind again? Were whatever colonial refugees not wiped out with the Maquis now forced to coexist once more with their, now equally dejected, Cardassian brethren awaiting Federation aid? "It is the U.S.S. Churchill." She finally told Naomi quietly, noticing the girl was awaiting her answer.

Naomi didn't pick up on her shift of mood, still gazing at the ship in rapture; she'd shuffled up her bed, elbows resting on the headboard as she looked over it. "That's the first Starfleet vessel I've ever seen, other than Voyager." She whispered, then bit down on her lip, "I…I don't count the Equinox."

Seven put a soothing hand on her thin back, she was cold. "You do not have to." She assured her as she wrapped a blanket around Naomi's shoulders, sensing that she felt she needed permission. Naomi rarely opened up about her feelings about any of Voyager's more traumatic ordeals, but Seven had been seriously, though privately, unsettled by the incident herself and Naomi had been worried enough about her that she'd sought her out, and Seven had immediately realised that the still young girl had been badly shaken. As much as her mother, Neelix and the rest of the crew had tried to shield her, aliens appearing from another dimension to pounce vengefully on anyone was terrifying to adults, let alone a child.

Naomi nodded slowly, remaining silent for a moment before adding. "There was Captain Braxton's ship too…the Aeon, but I'm too young to remember that." Her brow furrowed, "Wait…that means I've been to Earth too, 20th Century Earth. I _wish_ I could remember that, I could've seen Captain Proton in a real movie house."

Seven smiled ruefully at the regret in her voice. "If I recall the report correctly, the crew travelled back to 1996, Captain Proton is based on the science-fiction of the 1930s."

"Oh." Naomi muttered, uttering a sound between a sigh and a giggle. "Maybe the Captain's right and time travel does cause headaches." She flushed, remembering what had brought them here. "Admiral Janeway was so brave, I'm glad she broke the Temporal Prime Directive…"

Seven exhaled, the knot of nausea in her stomach that had formed at the mention of 24th Century timeships tightening as she thought of the Admiral's fate, her last sentient moments no doubt infected by the Collective. When Naomi had brought up Braxton and the Aeon, she'd had to stop herself from checking that the Relativity hadn't been summoned to correct the Admiral's meddling. Part of her had been expecting it since the Admiral's arrival, but they hadn't materialised. The Captain, the only other who knew of her experience on that ship, had concluded with her in private, somewhat wryly, that they must be letting this particular temporal incursion pass them by. Maybe _this_ incursion was part of their timeline? Or perhaps they'd helped the Admiral along in the first place? She gulped hard and rubbed her temple, time paradoxes did cause headaches. She hoped that Ducane, or even Braxton, understood they owed Voyager's crew this, this loophole. "As am I." She admitted thickly, "The Admiral was indeed brave, but that has always been one of Captain Janeway's attributes as well."

Naomi of course agreed emphatically, but still appeared subdued as she suddenly drew back from hanging over her headboard and shifted to sit demurely on the edge of the bed, head bowed. "Seven, what's going to happen now?" she mumbled.

Seven herself shifted uncomfortably as she regarded her warily. She couldn't admit to her young friend, as she had to Chakotay in a conversation that now felt frighteningly long ago, though had only in reality occurred the day before, that she had no idea. "Have you discussed it with your mother?" she asked carefully.

"Well…" Naomi began haltingly, "Dad's on his way here from DS9, but that'll take days or weeks. Mom says until he gets here we'll stay with my aunt, her sister, and when I asked what we'll do after that, she said that we'll figure it out." From her hesitant beginning, the words now tumbled out of her.

Seven felt a bolt of empathy for Samantha Wildman, having to cope with Naomi's uncertainty as well as her own, and she could see from Naomi's face that she was enduring as much guilt as apprehension. "I am sure you will 'figure it out'." She comforted her awkwardly, floundering on what she could possibly say that wouldn't make the girl feel worse. "I have been told…" She corrected herself, "I believe that experiencing apprehension, uncertainty, fear, is a natural response in our situation." She began bravely, "As natural, perhaps, as happiness…" Her voice, already wobbly, betrayed her and cracked.

She stiffened in surprise as Naomi's arms were suddenly around her neck, pulling her towards a hug. Self-consciously, but with feeling, she gently returned the hug, hearing Naomi sniff near her ear. "Will I still see the crew? Will I still see you and Icheb and Harry and Tom and…"

"Naomi…" She began, certain now. "This crew may be leaving Voyager, but they will not be leaving _you_. I know I will not be, and I believe the others would allow me to speak for them in this regard."

Naomi drew back from her enough to reveal her relieved smile, though it was also tearful and exhausted. "We'll still need to adapt, correct?" she asked staunchly.

"Yes." Seven sad firmly, relieved that she understood. "But we are still…family."

Naomi beamed at her, "The Voyager family." She declared confidently, "No matter who else comes aboard or where we go when we leave."

"That's right honey." Samantha Wildman's soft voice murmured behind them, and as they both turned in surprise they saw that she saw standing in the bedroom's threshold, smiling warmly. Obviously she'd overheard at least the latter part of their heartfelt conversation. "I don't think Captain Janeway herself could've put it better."

A grin flashed briefly across Naomi's face at the compliment, but she still said, visibly fighting the urge to yawn. "The Captain has called us a family before, lots of times." She recalled, "So I can't take…" Finally a prolonged yawn did interrupt her, "…all the credit."

Seven, slowly rising back to her full height, having crouched awkwardly for the hug, shook her head slightly. "Still, she would be glad to hear you echo the sentiment."

Naomi's brow scrunched as she drew her legs back up onto the bed, though she wasn't quite ready to surrender to inevitability and crawl back under the covers. "My last duty as the Captain's assistant." She mumbled sadly.

Seven was stricken. Her stomach churned as she drew an absolute blank on how to respond to that, let alone offer comfort. Any more than she could comfort herself over her own future prospects. Samantha, thankfully, had no such hesitation, and her face was calm as she faced her daughter. "Naomi, baby…" She began gently, taking her turn at kneeling now while absently smoothing wisps of sleep tousled hair behind Naomi's ear. "You're going to have plenty of other…duties, growing up and fun, to do on Earth. Voyager has been a big part of your…of our lives, and it always will be, but we're moving onto a new challenge, all of the crew are." She leaned in close, until her forehead brushed Naomi's Ktarian horns, her voice thick with emotion, "You're only six years old. You have your whole life ahead of you, here in the Alpha Quadrant…"

Now Samantha was pulled into one of Naomi's hugs. "Are you happy Mom?" she asked earnestly.

Samantha briefly buried her head into her shoulder as she tightened the hug. "Yes, I'm very happy." She admitted in a whisper.

Naomi smiled at her serenely, though not before catching Seven's eye over her mother's shoulder, her jaw forming a determined line. "Then it's worth it, leaving Voyager I mean. I will adapt and be happy."

Seven, though she suddenly felt like an intruder, still felt the full impact of Naomi's words. With her Ktarian genes gifting her with a particularly sharp memory, Seven had no doubt that the girl could recall their conversation after the 'Pitcher Plant' incident almost as clearly as she herself could. If Earth made their crew happy, they should embrace it… Samantha was replying, relieved and joyful. "I'm so glad to hear you say that sweetheart…" Still hugging Naomi, she firmly coaxed her to lie down, laughing quietly to herself, as if too many emotions were bubbling up to express themselves in any other way. "But if you're going to have the proper energy to begin to adapt to Earth, you should be getting as much sleep as you can right now." She glanced wryly back at Seven, "Isn't that right Seven?"

"Yes." Seven confirmed at once, "For definite."

"Okay, okay, I can see where this conversation is headed…" Naomi grumbled sleepily, curling up under the covers her mother stubbornly pulled around her. "Goodnight Seven." She added more good-naturedly, remembering her manners.

"Goodnight." Seven replied with feeling, agitation rising to combat the grief that assaulted her. _Irrational_ grief, this wasn't a goodbye. Not in the literal sense, a persistent voice in her mind whispered, but your life here, with these people, is ending. She retreated from Naomi's bedroom back into the quarters' main living space, making a beeline for the door out into the corridor before stopping herself. A discreet goodbye to Ensign Wildman was in order, she was uncomfortably self-aware of the fact that it would be rude to just leave after presuming to comfort Naomi. Sitting down on the couch to wait did not occur to her, and when Sam left her daughter's bedroom she found Seven still hovering by the door. Hovering was not a word strangers would've used, since she was standing stock still, contained and intimidating, but Sam knew her well enough by now to see that Seven only put that front on when she was at her most uneasy.

"Thank you for watching her Seven."

"It was my pleasure." Seven answered. That set reply, memorised long ago, was one she generally dismissed as contrived, but it left her lips honestly, if shyly, now. "Did you enjoy your party?" she asked stiltedly as she peered into the other woman's face in concern. The glorious, triumphant flush that had diffused her face, all of their faces, at the height of the celebrations had drained away from Samantha's features, leaving her looking drawn and exhausted under the quarters' unsympathetic lighting.

Sam's face lit up, and for a moment the awe-struck delight of earlier filled her eyes. "Oh yes. All my friends from the Beta shift had taken over Holodeck 1, it was quite the night." She blinked, as if waking from a dream, "It got emotional." She admitted, "I've known everyone for over seven years, and now…"

Seven froze as she saw tears start to slide down the other woman's cheeks. "Ensign Wildman…"

Samantha hastily wiped her eyes as she saw Seven's guilty, inadequate, deer in the headlights expression. "I'm alright Seven." She assured her hurriedly, "I just…I never thought we'd get here." She shook her head in painful disbelief, "Everything that's happened, everything I've had to put Naomi through…"

Seven gratefully grasped the opportunity to say something that would be of assistance. " _You_ are the one who has always been there for her, our situation has never been of your making…"

Sam grimaced, "No, but…" She swallowed hard, "I've always had to try to accept that we're in danger, that Naomi's in danger, or that anything might take me from her, and that's over. She'll meet Gresk, she'll get to have other children around her. I just can't believe it…" She laughed hoarsely, "I keep expecting to wake up."

Seven thought back to her anxieties over the Relativity. "As do I, figuratively." She admitted awkwardly as she took a penitent step towards her, "I apologise Ensign. I should have endeavoured to be more…positive with Naomi…"

"No." Samantha cut her off, "You said what she was needing to hear, and you were the right person to say it." She told her emphatically, "I know it's going to be hard on her, this ship is all she's ever known. I can try to understand that, but I can't relate." She hesitated, worried she had offended the younger woman, but if anything Seven looked relieved. Bridging the physical gap Seven had been too afraid to cross, she lightly touched her arm. "How are you?"

Seven automatically straightened her shoulders. "I will ada…" She started robotically, then felt the Borg adage die on her lips, instead bowing her head in concession. "You are correct in saying that I can relate to Naomi."

Samantha regarded her intently, concerned. "Do you have somewhere to go? On Earth I mean?" she asked impulsively. "I know Naomi would love to insist you stay with us if…"

"No." Seven told her firmly, "But thank you Ensign." As it had when the Captain and Harry had made her similarly sincere, well-meaning offers, it cost her something to turn down, but she stuck to the principle she'd decided on. "I will be accommodated without imposing on others. I am certain your family require time alone with you and Naomi."

Samantha was guiltily thankful that Seven had turned down her spur of the moment invitation. Her own reunion with her family would be precious. She also recognised that as friendly and open as she could be, Naomi would undoubtedly cling to Seven in a sea of strangers if she had the chance. Seeing that Seven perceived that truth too made her like the ex-drone more for her own sake, rather than as merely a good, responsible, if unorthodox, friend to Naomi. "Well, remember that you're welcome to impose, okay?" she replied with genuine warmth.

"I will." Seven assured her quietly, "I meant what I said to Naomi, I will be there when she requires me." She turned back towards the door to take her leave, "Goodnight Ensign."

* * *

"Looking for Bloomington?"

Janeway turned her head sharply away from the window at the sound of Chakotay's voice, though it took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust from being fixated on the dazzling lights of Earth below her, drawing her in like a moth to a flame, to settle on the everyday familiarity of Chakotay's face. "I'm holding out until I can see it in person." She replied warmly, "But for your reference…" Smilingly, her finger hovered over the window as she scanned the darkened North American continent, sleeping while also, from here, appearing lit up like a Christmas tree. She found the landmark white patch of Arctic Canada and moved down, letting her finger fall on an appropriate lattice of lights in the American Midwest. "…it's somewhere around there."

Chakotay zeroed in on the area. "I think that might be Toronto." He commented wryly, "You got misdirected around the Great Lakes."

Janeway laughed as her hand dropped back to her side in embarrassment. "My elementary teachers would be so proud!" she joked with a shake of her head, "Earth's geography was never my strong suit."

"I think you'll be forgiven that, considering how much of the Delta Quadrant you've led us through." Chakotay assured her.

"It wasn't just me who got us back Chakotay." She reminded him emphatically, but then her lips twisted grimly for a moment, "I think the Admiral can count as an extraordinary exception to that rule, but…" She trailed off, and was glad when Chakotay didn't jump in, but let the silence hang. She would be faced with enough psycho-analysis in the days to come from Starfleet Chiefs and counsellors, more qualified than Chakotay perhaps but who wouldn't read her a quarter as well. She turned fully away from the window and took in the Mess Hall. Its celebrating congregation had dwindled somewhat without her noticing, but there were enough stubborn, chattering stragglers to maintain the electric atmosphere. "It was all of us." She murmured, concluding her point succinctly as her eyes swept over the flushed, beaming faces. "Speaking of all of us, where is everyone else?" The room had been crammed almost to capacity just hours before, as corks were popped on bottles of real alcohol that had been squirreled away, held back for this impossible day and there was an open floor for speeches. "I hope no one has jumped ship on me now." There was a note of strain to those words, despite the light-hearted tone she fought to maintain. Throughout this night she'd finally begun to understand Chakotay's aversion to Starfleet bureaucracy as she'd fought for Voyager and its crew to be brought down to Earth as soon as possible. Her superior officers, she'd have to get used to having them again, had however been more cautious. The appropriate procedure must be applied, though she knew there wasn't one. If they were making said rules up on the hoof, couldn't she and her crew bend them one last time?

Chakotay shrugged, "I wouldn't put it past some of them to try, but mostly people have gathered in smaller groups all around the ship." He too let his eyes skim over the faces around him and though he saw happiness, relief, giddy _disbelief_ , he also saw that many people's expressions and actions had a frenetic edge. With realisation of a goal came the fear of change. The big hurrah was ebbing, and the big goodbye was looming. He shook himself out of it. Maybe he was projecting.

His Captain saw the shift in him, and she suspected that as he neglected to focus on any one face he was searching for one in particular. Seven had long since left to watch over Naomi to give Samantha the chance to be with her friends, and she didn't think Seven had ever _returned_ to a party after she'd been given a chance to leave. But then, Seven had been surprising her a lot lately. Surprise didn't quite cover what she'd felt when the Admiral had revealed _that_ future relationship. It hadn't taken long, with that bit of insider knowledge, to see that the relationship was already, and apparently had been, budding under her nose. She'd didn't think she'd ever forget the soothing relief that had washed over her, while still stinging from the Admiral's demise, when she'd ordered Chakotay to the helm and Seven had soon moved to stand beside him. More than once she'd caught Chakotay's hand leaving the console to squeeze Seven's, and their stoic masks slipped to reveal beaming smiles she'd so rarely seen from either. That, even more than the sight of Earth, had assured her that the Admiral's actions had been in the right, Temporal Prime Directive be damned. Still, everything had its consequences. "How are your crew holding up with all this?"

Chakotay's eyes shot warily to her face. However much necessity and time had blurred the dividing lines between Maquis and Starfleet, and between the two of them, references to 'my crew' and 'your crew' had always been, if not taboo, then at least the verbal starting pistol for any confrontation between them. He felt himself exhale as he saw nothing but frank, and genuine, concern on her face. She didn't need to continually urge him that they were one crew anymore, that he had to surrender his leadership role over the Maquis to her, finally they were completely one. It was ironic that, just as they'd achieved that, the realities of 'home' life would inevitably divide them all again, at least at first. "We're happy of course." He answered her, "But it's going to be another challenge. Earth isn't home for a lot of them, just a hell of a lot closer to it than where we were."

"I hope it can be _a_ home in time, just like Voyager has been, but yes it'll be difficult Chakotay." Janeway told him honestly, "I've been going over the details of the Maquis Amnesty with Admiral Paris." She admitted with a sigh, "It was designed for the survivors of the joint Cardassian-Dominion attack, so they could join the Federation ranks as smoothly as possible…" She acknowledged Chakotay's cynical grunt with a nod, "Our situation is different because we were never affected by that war…"

Chakotay appreciated her use of the word 'our', not that he'd ever really doubted that Kathryn would stand in their corner, but he couldn't let the implied sentiment stand. "We never redeemed ourselves…" He muttered sarcastically.

Janeway squeezed his arm hard, "Seven years exemplary service on the U.S.S. Voyager will count towards that." She vowed determinedly, "Not only are you going to get your field ranks validated, but promotion too."

"We'd appreciate that." Chakotay said warmly, smiling. He didn't envy those who would be sent to argue with her over that point. Rolling his shoulders wearily he confided, "I'm going to be talking to every one of my people individually to see what they want…"

"Forming a game plan against Starfleet Commander?" She actually winked at him even as her brow rose.

Chakotay shook his head ruefully, "Just anticipating them so we can have our best chance of success." He responded, "As for me, I'm thinking of trying civilian life for a while."

Kathryn had never been good at hiding her initial, strong, reactions to anything and her incredulous expression was almost comically vivid before she recovered. She felt a stab of guilt as Chakotay, also characteristically, made no response to that other than a tightening of his jaw. She gave him a wanly apologetic smile, "If I'm honest, I just can't imagine you as a civilian." She admitted.

"Well, I've never been one in my adult life as yet." Chakotay replied. There was a nip in his tone, though it was good-natured enough as he regarded her speculatively. "I could say the same about you Kathryn."

Kathryn answered with her distinctive throaty chuckle. "And you'd be right. Even before I joined the Academy I was a Starfleet brat." She cast a fleeting, skittish glance out the window again as she ran a weary hand over her face. "Even before I got this commission and our journey started, I hadn't been back to Bloomington in five years." She muttered, her lips twisting painfully, "And I certainly won't be going back to the apartment I shared with Mark…" She halted, angry with herself for saying so much.

Chakotay had always known that the 'farm girl done good' image Kathryn liked to project was partially smoke and mirrors. Yes, her main family home had been in the plains of Indiana, but her father had been a Starfleet Captain and her young life before his death had been transient, relatively cosmopolitan. It was only after her father's early death that she'd been confined to rural life. Her conflicted ideal of home, the _need_ for one, reflected a great deal in his mind. "We're all going to have to start over somewhat." He conceded gently, "But I know that you'll be able to find your feet."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Kathryn told him warmly, taking a few moments to study his face. These years had taken their toll on him, but as she sought out the sharp edges, the suppressed volatility of their early years together, it wasn't there. At some point he'd settled for what they, Voyager, had. When had that happened? It had been a source of frustration, seeing that realism as she fought the Delta Quadrant, and the memories still niggled at her, but as she struggled now with the thought of leaving Voyager, she wondered if he'd infected her somewhere along the line. But, she thought wryly, perhaps she'd changed him too. She could remember vividly when Chakotay had stood before her and honestly asked her how much humanity she really saw in Seven. That perspective had changed somewhere too. She knew there was speculation among the crew about her relationship with Chakotay now that they were in sight of leaving the chains of command behind, but in reality such talk was all the more ludicrous now. Perhaps at one time, but their bond was like a gnarled old tree, forced to form a protective canopy over their crew, and strong for that growth, but it was storm battered. To expect the nature of that tree to change, to bear romantic fruit, was as impossible as an oak morphing into an apple tree. Speaking of storms, she had no idea how to convey many of them to Starfleet Command… "I'm going to need it, I've got a hell of a lot of debriefings to get through…"

Chakotay smirked at her, "I'd say that we've seen one prediction of promotion…"

"That was a different timeline." Kathryn cut him off harshly, then added in a whisper, "Thank God."

Chakotay nodded heavily, "Yes." He took a step back, looking into her eyes frankly, "You're just going to have to remind Starfleet to let some things go." He stated shortly, and Janeway knew from the sudden flare of emotion in his quiet eyes that he was thinking of Seven more than his own ambiguous status. "We were in an extraordinary situation."

"Letting go can be difficult." She reminded him, hands curling in at her sides.

Chakotay's face darkened, "Don't we both know that already?" he replied resignedly. He'd been gone over seven years, and the situation in the DMZ, on his homeworld, was as tragic as ever. He'd have to live with that.

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 **A/n: Please review. :) I've already written the rest of this story, so when it's been beta-read and edited, I'll post it.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/n: Thank you to my lovely beta, and amazing fellow writer, NikkiB1973 for all her support on this chapter and the story as a whole.**

 **For Chakotay's familial and spiritual background in this chapter, I drew from what Teya created for her _Becoming Light_ series, especially the latest ongoing instalment 'Contrary'. That story is just essential reading, one of the absolute best. I also drew inspiration from the works of The Cheshire Cheese, specifically the one-shot 'Trails of Light'. **

**Songs also played a big part in this story, especially 'Like Real People Do' (yes, I got the title from it) and 'From Eden', both by Hozier. Honestly, these two songs are so perfect for C/7, if I had any idea how to make fanvids, I would set them to those songs.**

 **I do not own Star Trek: Voyager. Thanks for the reviews so far. :)**

* * *

"Hey, Seven!"

Seven gave a start, the voice she always found so compelling making her, in that one moment, want to run. Whether towards or away from him she didn't know. Conflicted, both fearful and relieved, she stopped in her tracks and slowly turned to face him, mouth dry. Should she call him Commander or Chakotay? Just smile at him? She found she could do none of them, even as she met his eyes.

They were warm, but seemed to reflect her own uncertainty. She didn't know whether to be hurt by that, given what they'd been through, if she had a right to be yet, or whether she should be reassured. As much as she yearned for confidence, conviction, how to best react to that from him was beyond her. She hadn't exactly shown strength of character in Astrometrics, first convinced by the Admiral and then by him. Was she now unreliable in his eyes…weak? She realised he was clearheaded enough to see that this relationship had _always_ been a risk, he'd even made a virtue of it when faced with the Admiral's doom mongering, but that had been in the heat of the moment. Perhaps now, seeing her in an empty corridor at 0300 hours while their crewmates celebrated and with Earth awaiting him, the scales of that risk had tilted out of her favour…

"What are you doing?" Chakotay asked carefully, trying a little too hard to be nonchalant as he sensed her scrutinising him warily, as if trying to sense his motives. Hurt, regret and more than a little exasperation prickled at him. Were they really back to that? He checked himself quickly as he took in her ghostly pallor, the stiffness in her lovely frame he recognised as exhaustion. He'd been patient before, he could be again.

Her eyes darted eagerly away from his face down to the PADD in her hand. "I am…" She hesitated, then straightened her back, lapsing into the formality that had just hours ago been developing into a tease between them, but was now a protective mechanism. "I am compiling a full report of the damage Voyager sustained during our journey through the transwarp conduit."

Chakotay winced reflexively, though he belatedly realised Voyager's state of repair was no longer a life or death matter for them all any more. Within hours the ship would be handed over to the powers that be at Starfleet. "I'm guessing that's a pretty long report." He remarked wryly, trying to cover up the unease that had surged through him at that earlier thought.

Seven's face softened perceptively as she saw right through him. "Yes, but it is far from the lengthiest I've had to submit." She assured him softly. Not the way he'd intended to get her guard down, but beggars couldn't be choosers…

He smiled at her wryly, gratefully. "No, not in the least." He admitted, just stopping himself from reaching over to look at the PADD himself. They weren't Commander and Crewman anymore, hadn't been for weeks, but now even the need for pretence was waning. It _was_ easier in some respects though. "You know…" He began softly, "The Starfleet Engineering crew, they're going to want to do their own reports, their own repairs. You can take a break…"

Seven swallowed hard, her grip around the PADD tightening. "You are correct of course." She forced out brusquely, "My interference will be unwelcome."

Chakotay inhaled sharply. His mouth opened to deny it, but catching her resigned, certain eyes made the platitude, for that was what it would be, die on his lips. She was right, damn it! She sighed softly, a response to the pained, unconsciously reproachful, look in his eyes, and he echoed her more heavily, tired shoulders sagging. "That's not what I meant." He said quietly as an eventual, inadequate reply.

"I know." Seven answered, her eyes full of silent apology as she finally looked him straight in the face. "It was an effort to distract myself. An ineffective endeavour as much as it was an irrelevant task." She hesitated, her frank tone wavering. "Regeneration held no appeal…" She waved a hand sheepishly down at herself, "…despite the physiological necessity of it."

Chakotay studied her for a moment, then shrugged. "I won't be able to sleep tonight either." He admitted. Seven was relieved that he pressed the issue no further, didn't try to nanny her despite the worry that had flared in his eyes as his eyes swept over her weary body. She'd already admitted so much to him, even in this short, stilted conversation, but her mind recoiled from saying the brutal truth aloud, the accusation, that she didn't want to be found by Starfleet in her alcove. Nor to confide that the Queen's destruction, as much as the memory of her voice, would haunt any dreams… Chakotay spoke again, calling on her attention. "Speaking of…busy work…" His eyes flicked to the PADD but held empathic understanding rather than reproof, "I was thinking of packing up my quarters sooner rather than later, are you willing to give me a hand?"

Seven's eyes widened slightly. Unthinkingly, she blurted, "You do not wish Starfleet to record your quarters intact?" The boorish question had hardly left her lips before she began to flush in absolute mortification. How could she have asked such a thing? Not only was it rude, it was judgemental, revealing. She didn't think badly of the Maquis, but the way that sounded…

For once, Seven's frantic thoughts were transparent, as much as her mortified blush was deep. Chakotay was able to smirk, take it light-heartedly, mostly because Seven was one person, perhaps the _only_ person, whom he knew meant nothing with such a comment. It was an obvious, and practical, question after all, and he _didn't_ want Starfleet rifling through his belongings, not because he had anything left to hide, but for pride and privacy's sake. "Maybe." He agreed with an enigmatic chuckle, "Or maybe I'm just a really lazy packer who would appreciate some of your famous efficiency." He kept his tone deliberately light, offered her his most encouraging smile. The effort cost him nothing, and he hoped it would reap as many rewards as his slow build up to changing their relationship had. Not for the first time, he wondered what exactly had pushed him to pursue Seven, persist though the obstacles of awkwardness, the push and pull of natural reserve versus attraction. He couldn't recall ever dogging a woman's heels, however respectfully, as he had with Seven. He hadn't thought himself the type for it. Maybe his ego had been inflated, that the right woman would just be drawn to him effortlessly. Or perhaps he tended to fall for the powerful, certain ones who came to him cloaked in charm and ulterior motives…

"Perhaps you mean my _infamous_ efficiency." Seven muttered in a dry, pointedly self-deprecating tone, her blush still lingering enough to highlight the shyness in her eyes. It was only when he laughed, freely and with pleasure, that she managed to shake it off, squaring her shoulders and eyeing him in a business-like manner. "Are you certain that you are ready for my form of assistance?"

Chakotay felt his eyebrow twitch, ready to ape her trademark expression, as he wondered if she realised how many imaginative ways he could take that particular question. Seven was very new to the art of double-entendre, but then she was such a quick learner… He chuckled, almost in anticipation; he'd answer her before she realised and withdrew the question. "Come on." He urged, turning towards the turbolift.

Seven followed with hardly any hesitation, but the relaxed turn in their conversation seemed to fall away without a witty reply from her to support it. They fell into another intense silence as the turbolift carried them up through the decks. Doubt and resignation, her constant companions that had briefly taken flight, settled back on her shoulders as she watched Chakotay tense up again equally quickly. The shockingly easy, open banter of their dates where words had seemed to float comfortably out of her mouth seemed far away, unattainable. Even the calm, unremarkable work related conversation of all of their professional encounters seemed to have abandoned them. Why had she agreed to go to his quarters? It would be doubly painful to have her memories set there crushed by this reasserting awkwardness. She knew what it was, hapless hope on her side and pitying kindness on his…

Chakotay glanced at Seven again as the turbolift finally drew to a halt, but her frown of deep thought, he could practically see the cogs turning in her well-oiled brain, still daunted him. As ever, he was intrigued by what she could be thinking, but fear of the answer was suppressing it. The air felt unbearably stuffy and he had to take a deep breath as he stepped out onto the deck. From the minute flinch that passed over Seven's face at that, he knew at once she'd misread him. Damn it. However, she did still follow him. He found himself counting small blessings like that. He'd been groping for a topic, something he'd never really had to do with Seven before, when finally one occurred to him. "How's Naomi holding up? You left the party to put her to bed, right?"

Seven was literally wrong footed by the enquiry and almost stumbled, recovering somewhat inelegantly. "Correct." She answered stiltedly. Chakotay had stopped when she'd stumbled and didn't give her the escape of continuing to walk, he stayed expectantly where he was, listening intently. "Naomi Wildman has a strong character, she will be fine."

Chakotay nodded, "I know, but that doesn't necessarily make it any easier." He remarked thoughtfully.

Seven sighed heavily, not just for Naomi's sake. "No." she agreed, "She is apprehensive about leaving Voyager, being separated from the crew, meeting her father…" She swallowed, "Her mother assured me that it was good that I shared my own concerns about the future, but I am uncertain. I may have made things worse, increased her feelings of ambivalence…"

Chakotay shook his head, "No." His voice was resolute. "You'll have helped her. She trusted that you would understand. When someone's afraid, feeling alone only adds to that fear." He murmured.

Seven met his eye frankly, as aware as he was that they weren't only talking about Naomi. "Naomi will never be alone." She said with relieved conviction, "She has her mother, an equally strong person if not more so, and as I reassured her, she has the crew." She felt Chakotay's eyes on her, trying to reflect her own words back towards her, but she avoided them to add, "Besides that, Naomi and I reiterated our agreement."

"Agreement?" Chakotay echoed blankly.

"Yes." Seven confirmed, "Do you recall the incident regarding that alien specimen which came to be known as the 'Pitcher Plant alien'?"

"The ship-eating, delusion inducing alien that almost made Voyager its next meal?" Chakotay answered wryly, "Of course, though I was having a pretty pleasant dream through most of that time."

"As intended." Seven reminded him, "It was not so pleasant for Naomi and I, or the Doctor for that matter, after we reactivated him. At first we were bemused as to why we had been left unaffected, only to realise that we did not share the…fervent desire of our crewmates to return home." She'd dropped her gaze again as she said this, it was an admission that could have made her a pariah among many sections of the crew. "We did not particularly analyse this until the 'dust had settled', so to speak, but when we did…" She trailed off, "In the end, remembering the wider crew's happiness, we concluded that we could nurture a desire to return for the sake of others if not for ourselves as individuals." She smiled softly to herself, "To paraphrase Naomi, Earth cannot be that bad if everyone is so desperate to return."

Chakotay tried valiantly to return the smile. "Tuvok would approve of that logic." He risked touching her arm and felt relief rush through him as his hand steadied as soon as he made contact. He swallowed the lump in his throat, there was something incredibly poignant about a little girl and an ex-drone coming together to agree to put a brave face on things for their crew's sake. Of course, Seven's kind white lie had to be seen through, she'd made her doubts and fears clear more than once, notoriously when she'd wanted to be left behind when Voyager had been fooled by Arturis and the fake U.S.S. Dauntless. However, he also saw that after the 'Pitcher Plant incident' she'd rarely disputed Voyager's goal and her role in it again. He himself had likely been guiltier of that at times. "Really Seven, that's as good a way of handling it as any…" He began, though in truth he wasn't sure. It couldn't be good, for Seven particularly, to suppress her individual fears for the good of the group, though it was a given that she would do so. It would just mean that those fears would surge up to the surface now that the crew was splitting apart, now that living as an individual was the only option for her… "Now, that it's happened, now that we are all back, you have to trust us. Trust that we were right." He held her overly bright gaze, the revision ' _Trust me_ ' at the tip of his tongue.

Seven could only maintain his searching, almost pleading gaze for a moment, transported in her mind's eye back to Astrometrics, when he'd asked even more of her at an emotional cliff edge and she'd jumped for him. But had they landed safe and sound together? It didn't feel like it, not quite yet. "We have arrived at your quarters." She murmured.

Chakotay followed her gaze and belatedly realised they'd been standing by his own door this whole time. He thought of joking about the door, since she'd beamed in on her one and only visit, but he was nervous of a crass misstep, of making her retract back into her shell. "Ladies first." He offered quietly as he dialled in the keycode and the doors obligingly slid open.

The amused bemusement that flashed over Seven's face as she humoured him, her question of ' _Why_?' unvoiced but crystal clear in her arched brow as she moved past him, allowed him to smile again. He should've made the door joke, however corny. Maybe he still needed to learn to trust a little more too.

The room's lights were still dimmed, all set for the romantic dinner they'd been rudely called away from. Seven experienced the usual millisecond of disorientation as her human eye adjusted to the light, catching up with her unaffected cybernetic eye, but still she spotted something instantly. The flowers, discarded or dropped onto the table by Chakotay when she'd kissed him. She wasn't one to engage in the contrived human habit of seeing metaphors in everything, but still she felt her heart drop as she gathered up the blooms. "They have wilted."

Chakotay came up behind her, a pleasant déjà vu coming over him at the sight of her standing there with the flowers. By the taut, sorrowful expression on her face though, he knew he would only get a true repeat of the scene in his mind. "No…" He murmured, brushing a finger against one of the lolling flower heads, "They just need water, like I said." He remembered the vase he'd pulled out from somewhere, God knew where, when she'd first produced the flowers and lifted it up, starting to turn towards the sink in his tiny kitchenette. "You did interrupt me last time, remember?"

Seven nodded shakily, though with his back turned to her there was no way he would register the action. Her legs felt weak and she knew she was likely squeezing the last of the life out of the poor flowers, so tight was her grip on the fragile stems. She'd grown to expect, even anticipate, the way the slow burn of his smile would set her insides smouldering, but the fleeting flash he'd given her then was unnerving on a different level. He wasn't one to smile constantly, quickly and thoughtlessly, it was a prize to be won. Seeing it pass so hurriedly made her fret that he was uncomfortable, or even that it may be a grimace.

Chakotay _was_ uncomfortable, but not for the reason Seven was speculating. It was shyness more than anything, distaste for her kisses was the last thing on his mind. Despite his penchant for forward women, he'd never been kissed like that, quite so honestly and fearfully at the same time. He didn't want to scare her now by being hungry for her, wolfish even. That didn't mean he wasn't but… His damp palms half dropped the vase and it clinked loudly against the sink. Sheepishly, he checked it for cracks as Seven glanced over curiously. No damage. The cold water filled it rapidly, Chakotay wished he could splash it liberally over his face, a poor man's cold shower. So much for a first kiss alleviating the tension, if anything it had ratcheted up to another level. He should take a page out of Seven's book and just kiss her again now. He'd been tempted in the turbolift, if only he'd acted then, kissed the hell out of her…

He cleared his throat, feeling hot a breathless. "There." He declared huskily, heading back to her with the filled vase and watching her methodically arrange the flowers. They perked up almost immediately, and he grinned in triumph. "See? I told you." Seven nodded mutedly, her own tiny smile oddly relieved but tremulous. "You would pick the hardiest flowers after all."

Seven nodded pensively, casting a permissive glance at the table before setting the vase down then straightening up, the moment passing. "How do you propose starting your packing process?" she asked matter-of-factly.

Chakotay looked uncertainly around the room. He hadn't really expected her to latch so firmly onto that suggestion, but now he saw that he should have. "Well, I guess we need to replicate some boxes first…"

Seven relaxed perceptively, already marching towards his replicator. "Of course." She agreed as she dialled in the command. Five flat pack boxes instantly appeared. Chakotay watched her set about putting them together, struck as much as ever by how completely she seemed able to focus on a task. It was deceptive. She'd unfolded four boxes before he even began to struggle with the last, scanning the room for personal belongings. She avoided looking through his bedroom door and even this living room left her somewhat stumped. The thought of rummaging through his personal belongings made her cringe internally, perhaps this wasn't such a good idea. "Where do you want me to start?"

"Oh, anywhere." Chakotay answered distractedly, already having started gathering up his meagre scattering of knickknacks and mementoes. Well, it wasn't so little considering that he'd come onto Voyager with nothing more than the clothes on his back and the medicine bundle B'Elanna had thoughtfully rescued for him as she'd evacuated the Valjean. Everything not picked up on some away mission was a reproduction of an original, but that didn't mean they hadn't collected their own memories for him over the past seven years.

Seven cautiously approached his single bookshelf, she was surprised by how few titles it contained, though it was an eclectic mix. She knew that he was highly literate, but few people could tell looking at this. She even checked the shelf for dust, but like the rest of the room it was clean. Her hand hit a small stone, no, a pebble. She held it in her palm. Cool and smooth, spiral patterns had been engraved. "Seven?" Chakotay prompted, noticing how she'd halted in her packing process.

She gave a start and hurriedly put the stone back down. "You do not have many books." She remarked.

Chakotay replied with a teasing snort. "You mean compared to Kathryn the bibliophile?" He shook his head, "I've never spent my time searching for first editions like she did, if that's what you mean."

Seven smiled, "She does have many artefacts of literature and otherwise. Lieutenant Paris describes her as a 'pack rat'."

Chakotay chuckled in agreement. "All of those things are personal to her, I just have different taste." He held up a PADD sitting prominently on the table by his favourite chair. "I just download all my reading material into this. Paperback is overrated in my opinion, they did stop that publishing method in the late 21st Century after all. New authors have to have a chance too."

"You requested that you be included on the list of latest publications that Starfleet sends in the MIDAS data-link." Seven recalled, pleased. She herself had tentatively downloaded a handful of new novels for herself lately. She'd liked some and disliked others, but it was a change from the classics the Captain and the Doctor worshipped; densely dialectal poetry she struggled to follow, courtly romances that did little to enamour her, or comedies of manners that only made her more highly aware of her own shortcomings.

Chakotay waved the PADD proudly. "It also serves me well during particularly boring duty shifts."

Seven stared at him incredulously, "You mean that whenever you were on the Bridge or walking through the ship reading PADDs…" He winked at her and laughter bubbled out of her throat, soon becoming riotous as her body took full advantage of the chance at emotional release.

Chakotay walked towards her, relishing her laughter more than his own. As much as a chuckle from her was a rare treat, so he felt his step lighten at bringing all this out of her. "Maybe…10% of the time I was reading reports." He added, utterly deadpan. Even as she laughed in disbelief, Seven's eyes widened enough that at least some of her disbelief was real. He threw his hands up in defence as he reached her, "Don't worry, I always read yours."

Seven steadied herself against the bookshelf and shot him a teasingly haughty look, complete with smirk. "You are flattering me Commander."

"No, sadly not!" Chakotay countered, laughing, "You were the only one who'd expect me to really read those daily reports, the ones when we weren't in crisis, I was always afraid you'd give me a pop quiz or something."

Seven raised her chin. "I still could." She challenged him.

Chakotay leaned into his, one hand on either side of her on the shelf, eyes dark. "Go ahead." He murmured huskily.

Seven blinked dazedly up at him, "As you wish…" she murmured, her feet moving of their own accord to close the small gap between them. Unfortunately she forgot about the half-filled box of books in her arms that bumped him in the chest.

Chakotay acted before she could become even mildly embarrassed, a decisive sigh rumbling out of his chest. In one smooth movement, he'd taken the box out of her hands and lowered it to the floor. Then, as he rose, he wrapped one strong arm neatly around her waist and kissed her tenderly on the lips. Much as his had when she'd surprised him, her lips froze against his for an instant, then melted. She was just starting to respond when he forced himself to pull back, keep it gentle. He was glad of that when he saw her huge, stunned eyes, though they were rapidly softening, glistening, as she realised what he'd done. Cupping her face, running his thumb over the curve of her fine cheekbones, her skin was so much softer than the flowers she'd been worrying over, he murmured, "Feel better?"

Seven exhaled shakily, "Much better." She admitted thickly, her fingers closing around the course fabric of uniform jacket to keep him close.

Chakotay tilted his head until their foreheads were brushing, it was easy given the only slight height difference between them with her in her heels. "Me too."

"Kissing truly is a tension reliever." Seven added somewhat breathlessly, self-conscious of the fact she sounded more than a little awed.

"Mm hmm." Chakotay comfortably agreed, now putting his other arm around her. "Want to try it again?"

He felt Seven's wry replying smile full against his mouth before she moulded her to kiss him back. This time was marked with the same joyful, exploring lack of restraint that had characterised their first and second kisses. The passion ignited at once, although now there was so much more emotion and hunger to pour in. Her hands roamed his back and shoulders, his own went lower, skimming and squeezing her curves. He wasn't aware that he'd pinned her to the wall until he felt her flinch as her back hit the protruding bookshelf. "Sorry…" He choked out guiltily as he pulled back for air, panting.

Seven shook her head fervently, equally breathless, her eyes landing on the comm. badge on his heaving chest. "You were going to deactivate the comm. system…"

Chakotay's eyes shot irritably to the comm. badge, his fuddled brain thinking that an inopportune hail had again interrupted them, but the device was innocently silent. "Oh yeah." He remembered, not only clicking his comm. badge off but tugging it free of his tunic before reaching over to do the same with Seven's. Grinning with boyish abandon, he bounced the two badges in his hand. "I think we've had enough of these." With spur of the moment dramatic flair, he tossed them behind him, only to gape along with Seven as they slammed into the corner of the coffee table, sparked, and then fell to the floor, apparently dead.

Seven was the first to close her mouth, then commented, "Good aim." Chakotay guffawed at once, but Seven's brow was arching high now, "Those will need to be replaced out of our replicator rations."

Chakotay shook his head, struggling to contain his inane, almost hysterical laughter. "That thing lasted over seven years." He muttered, "But I think we can do without them for the next couple of hours at least."

"Perhaps." Seven replied, fighting the sudden lump in her throat, "But this is Voyager, our situation day by day is unpredictable." Unpredictable in many ways, but so routine and safe in others…

Chakotay too swallowed, able to pick up on Seven's distress even easier as, without the Universal Translators in their comm. badges, emotion made her natural accent peek through the English words.

Distractedly, his eyes fell on the damned shelf that had knocked their ardour; he smiled as he picked up the stone. "Were you wondering what this is?"

"It is a stone." Seven stated as she stepped into his proffered arm and he curled her into his side. "Is it a piece of Native American carving?" she asked, serious and respectful now.

Chakotay chuckled, "I guess it is, since I carved it." At her bemused expression, he explained, "Carving like this _could_ be part of my people's tradition, but it's a _very_ big if. My tribe has so many Reconstructionist elements in it, no one can be certain of everything we did on Earth in the years before recorded history, the Conquistadors destroyed so much of what there was, and then the poverty, drug wars and emigration of later centuries weakened it further…" He trailed off, shaking his head wryly, "When my recent ancestors relocated to the colonies, they tried to figure out what was 'real', ironically just like the Federation had in their efforts to extend their cultural bureaucracy to them, but soon enough they decided the colonies had to have their own independent identity to survive." Seven smiled sadly at the rueful pride in his voice, how much of that independent identity was in tatters now, never to return? She squeezed his hand as he considered the stone in his other. "I always thought these little rocks were fodder for the tourists, but my father was always chipping away at them. He was really quite good. I salvaged a few of them, after he died, but I lost them with the Valjean." He sighed matter-of-factly, "I did this one myself to keep my hands busy while I was recovering from a Kazon phaser shot to the ribs."

Likely during one of his troubled encounters with the infamous Seska. Seven felt her muscles start to tense but ruthlessly suppressed the urge, instead peering intently at the stone. "Does the pattern hold significance?"

"The spiral, yes." Chakotay confirmed, "You can even see an element of it in my tattoo." He let Seven examine his face then nod before continuing, "It represents change, but also continuity and permanence. It's one of the central symbols my people embrace."

Seven frowned uneasily, "Your people celebrate change?"

"Far from it." Chakotay assured her, "Humans don't in general, we're too stubborn. We're just…strongly encouraged to accept it as an essential part of life." He shrugged dolefully, "I was never that good at accepting that particular aspect of my spiritual teachings."

Seven met his eye but found her attention drawn to the spiral again. She traced the intents in the stone with her finger, the pattern reminded her of something. "Gyllene snittet…" She mumbled to herself.

"Seven?" Chakotay questioned.

She blinked, belatedly remembering to speak English. "1.6180339887… The…"

"Golden ratio." Chakotay finished for her, pleased with himself for recognising the number from advanced math at the Academy.

"Perfection in ratio, yes." Seven took a breath, "The pattern repeats itself in nature throughout the galaxy, in astronomical phenomena to the flowers and honeybees of Earth. The spiral often represents it in art." The dreamy look left her face to be replaced by a bitter grimace, "The Borg built it into the design of their Cubes." She felt his hand press reassuringly into the small of her back and looked up at him. "Your people are very advanced to have recognised it, in whatever fashion, despite the Collective also doing so."

Chakotay smiled at her in reassurance and understanding, "I've always thought we all have some things in common, universe wide. It's a good thing to recognise Seven." He carefully dropped the stone into the box and straightened up, leaving her side to head for the replicator. "How about we indulge in one of the things my people definitely introduced, hot chocolate?"

Seven beamed at him gratefully. "Yes please."

"I'm going to replicate some food too. Chell's a friend, but his attempts at canapés for the party left a lot to be desired." Chakotay stood by the replicator, quickly accepting its first suggestion, the machine could by now predict his limited repertoire. The hot chocolate appeared first, then the two steaming plates. He did a double take as he realised just how odd the combo would seem to Seven the chef, anyone walking in would think they were trying to kick hangovers. "Is grilled cheese okay? It doesn't exactly go with the hot chocolate, but…"

Seven looked at him askance, wondering if he was serious, but then her stomach growled loudly. Her last planned meal had been their aborted dinner, with everything that had happened, and avoiding Chell's canapés, she'd hadn't eaten in…38 hours.

Chakotay heard the rumble and chuckled, "I'll take that as a yes." He sat down on the couch by the window, waiting until Seven had joined him and claimed her meal before ravenously digging in. He groaned as hot cheese instantly trickled down his chin. "I had a more…dignified menu in mind for our date, I promise." He assured her, voice muffled as he chewed hurried.

"Naturligtvis." Seven murmured, eyes twinkling, as she took a long sip of her hot chocolate and sighed in satisfaction. "I will…take your word for it." She answered as she opted for knife and fork rather than hands to eat like Chakotay had. Her head cocked slightly as she took a bite. "The combination is more palatable than I expected."

Chakotay grinned at her and settled comfortably back in the couch. Within minutes they'd both polished off the sandwiches and were slowly drinking the last of the hot chocolate. "I'm guessing it was Naomi who introduced you to this." He said as he lowered his mug.

"It was Ensign Kim actually." Seven told him, "He 'swears by it' as a cure for insomnia." She'd expressed doubt at the time, and it recurred now as she relished the rare sugar rush. The energy boost was not realistically conductive to sleep.

"It's definitely comforting." Chakotay agreed, then his brow wrinkled in disgust. "Tastes a hell of a lot better than hot milk alone." He rose reluctantly up from the couch, "I'll get back to sorting this out." He muttered, heading over to the box he'd already half filled with, Seven had noticed, his most personal belongings in this rather impersonal set of quarters. Photographs, small pieces of seemingly Native American art. She watched as he stood there, staring down into it, with a distant, almost haunted, expression on his handsome face.

Putting her own mug aside, she stood and approached him cautiously. "Do those items hold painful memories?" she asked quietly. Unbidden, she was struck by a thought of the Cargo Bay. She owned very little other than her few biosuits, a favoured tool kit, a few things the children had given her; but there was also the multiple containers that hulked in the space like dozing monsters, all the remnants of the U.S.S. Raven Voyager had salvaged. She hadn't touched any of it since the Captain had ordered her to in the ill-starred mission to steal a transwarp drive. What was she supposed to do with it all? Hand it over to Starfleet? Give it to Irene Hansen? Perhaps her aunt would find it more of a distress than a comfort, just as she had, but people were unpredictable like that… Chakotay had gone through the logs, she would ask him to advise her… As she mulled this dilemma of her own, and saw Chakotay stiffen, she realised just how insensitive her question had been. "Forlåt mig." She gasped out, "I…I should know better than to pry…"

Chakotay turned to her, running a rueful hand through his hair. "No te preocupes." He assured her distractedly, realising that with her and without the Universal Translator, he was lapsing into his natural informal colonial dialect of mixed Spanish and English, something that was increasingly rare for him, just as she was slipping into Swedish. He gave her a gentle smile when he read her anxious expression, ushering her over. "It's more bittersweet than painful by now." He confided, "But there are some funny things in here." His hand dove into the box and pulled out a roll of thick paper, quickly unfurling it for her to see. "This is my medicine wheel." He pronounced.

Seven stared at the paper, then at his face and back again. He told tell she was struggling with how much she should say to him, but the dubiousness on her face was so transparent that his straight face was beginning to fail him. Finally, she couldn't help herself. "Chakotay…medicine wheels are _structures_." She explained slowly, "They resemble actual wheels constructed in stone."

Chakotay's will broke and he began to laugh. " _I know_ that, but no one else on this ship did, even the Doctor."

Seven's hands sprang to her hips. "Explain yourself." She did have a culprit in mind, Chakotay's twisted sense of humour.

"Alright, my first year here, I was looking on the database for something to put on these grey walls, and I found this. Whichever New Age joker had marked it as a medicine wheel, I just laughed it off and replicated it to make a point." He shook his head, "Unfortunately, everyone I showed it to fell for it."

Seven shook her head at him, teasingly despairing. "That was cruel Chakotay. I don't believe your geographical heritage even points to your people ever having used genuine medicine wheels."

"No, it's a Plains Indian tradition." Chakotay confirmed, "Most of the surviving examples are in Canada, thousands of kilometres further north than my people ever lived." He rerolled the 'medicine wheel' and replaced it in the box, "Anyway, the joke kind of ended up on me. When I was…disembodied by the Komar and comatose, B'Elanna hung this over my biobed. I ended up using the stones on this wheel to point a way out of their territory for Voyager."

Seven approached the box, "Even the most frivolous of items can have unexpected uses." She concluded wryly.

Chakotay nodded, eyeing her speculatively. "Aren't you going to ask me what it was like? 'Possessing' members of the crew?" He'd never had someone who didn't ask him whenever this damned incident came up, enduring ribald jokes asking if he could confirm if men's brains were from Mars and women's from Venus.

Seven studied him for a moment. "I think I can understand the experience sufficiently." She reminded him quietly. Chakotay cringed at once, what a stupid question. Seven had spent the majority of her life with her mind muddled with, consumed by, those of billions of others. Sensing his discomfort, Seven touched his arm reassuringly, peering more confidently into the box.

"There is a great deal of speculation among the crew about that." She murmured, pointing to the Akoonah peeking out of his medicine bundle.

"Ah, yes, my vision quests." Chakotay muttered in acknowledgement, shifting uncomfortably. He'd confidently spouted the explanations of his father and uncles for years, it was just plain easier, but meeting Seven's penetrating gaze made all that seem…hollow. He met that gaze awkwardly, "I could give you all of the theology behind it, but honestly…in reality it's hard to explain. You just have to experience it." Suddenly, an experience of his own he'd shoved to the back of his mind in confused rejection came back to him in full force. The vision quest he'd embarked on in the hours after being linked to the drone Seven of Nine…

He looked at her face, but it showed no recognition. Perhaps his own muddled mind had created those scenes as a way to cope, to accept the trauma he'd been through, just as he'd always thought, but equally he could imagine her in that flowing white dress, her voice already sounded similar to back then… Seven's next words made him blink, as if back to the present. "Do you think I could…experience it?" she half-whispered.

"Yes, of course." He reassured her, gently and honestly. "Do you want to?"

"I don't know…" Seven admitted, "…perhaps." She glanced away from him, "I would need to check with the Doctor first, given my unique brain chemistry."

Chakotay grimaced, "The Doctor might not approve of me involving you in this." He remarked recklessly, regretting it at once. Not only was it unnecessarily resentful towards the Doctor and his overbearing interference Chakotay himself had always chafed under, it also implied that Seven didn't have a mind of her own.

Seven's face twisted, but not, as he'd anticipated in defence of the Doctor or herself. "The Doctor has witnessed many irrational decisions from me…" She murmured wearily, "I know he would not consider this one of them." She sighed, doubt visibly pressing on her. "Perhaps it would be unwise for me to pursue it. My understanding of spiritual matters has been proven defective."

Chakotay squeezed her arm, peering into her face. "Defective is a strong word…" He began.

Seven snorted, "I sought Omega to the point where I endangered the crew. A particle that is perfect in its immense destructive power, which has eliminated everything it came in contact with. Very appropriate for the Collective, and I clung to it dogmatically."

Chakotay sighed heavily, a silent acceptance of the truth in what she said. "You'd only been disconnected a few months after eighteen years, it was understandable…"

Seven met his eye, her own gleaming with shame. "Is that what you thought when I confronted you, demanded that you assist me in my pursuit of Omega, inferred that our spirituality was somehow on par…"

"No." Chakotay conceded, "You remember our early interactions as well as I do Seven, I wasn't really _willing_ to understand anything about you."

Despite the open regret in his tone, Seven still flinched, though she bore the truth as her due. "And yet you still spoke to the Captain on my behalf, even as I insulted you…"

"Yes, I did." Chakotay confirmed, "I didn't want to, but however…unique your perspective, how much I didn't like it, you still made some good points about how similar it all really was. I would've been a hypocrite if I'd just ignored you because you made me uncomfortable." His lips shifted into a wry quirk, "No one else would've had the balls to confront me quite like that anyway, I had to give you something for that."

Seven relaxed a little at that last phrase, tempted to make a joke about anatomy for a second, but the subject was still too serious. "I suppose I was misguided, rather than defective."

"Yes." Chakotay eventually answered as he closed the box, "Let's leave the packing for now, I didn't really bring you here for that anyway."

"I've realised that." Seven murmured as she kissed him lightly, a little of her self-confidence returning as he gripped her to deepen the kiss before they headed back to the couch arm in arm.

They were met with a panoramic view of much of the Northern hemisphere out of the window. "I think this is better than just the blue marble image." Chakotay told her quietly, arm around her waist. "You can watch the dawn come in, and the night recede." He pointed down at the two sides of the Atlantic, where morning had already reached the shores of Europe but the light sprinkled darkness of deep night still cloaked the American continents.

Seven nodded, "It is living…beautiful."

Chakotay nodded against her hair. "Where do you want to go first?"

Seven's lips bleached white as she pressed them together, staring unblinkingly down at the daunting world below. "Jag vet inte." She mumbled, lost. A sigh, more of relief than anticipation, rushed out of her as Chakotay responded to that by ghosting kisses down her throat. She let her eyes drift closed in pleasure, beginning to consider his question as she relaxed. "A…forest maybe." She whispered, "Peaceful but vibrant." Chakotay knew she was picturing Ledosia, even if half-subconsciously, and kissed her throat that bit harder, hugged her a little tighter. Seven moaned softly, then caught herself and suppressed it, even as her hand flew to his cheek and stroked it. "What about you?" she asked, flustered.

Chakotay exhaled thoughtfully, Seven suspected he knew how much his warm breath tickled her skin. "Oh…first thing I want to do is take a dip in a warm ocean. There's nothing like the Gulf of Mexico, although I'd settle for the Mediterranean or the Adriatic too."

Seven considered that. "I do not know how to swim." She admitted, "It was never necessary."

"Don't worry, I'll teach you." Chakotay assured her without missing a beat, or a kiss to her throat.

Seven turned her head, breaking the contact, to catch his eye. "Are you qualified to do so Commander?"

Chakotay chuckled throatily. "I'll have you know Crewman that I was a lifeguard at the Academy, the best of my many part-time jobs. I also tried my hand at windsurfing three summers running."

"Windsurfing?" Seven echoed as she turned fully into him, looping her arms loosely around his neck. "I presume you'd want me to attempt that also?"

"If I could convince you…" He kissed her deeply, but the dance of it all wasn't quite over as they first skirted the couch then lowered themselves down, still locked together.

Chakotay could feel Seven unravelling beneath him, but kept himself in check just enough to restrain himself to kissing. As much as it wound him tighter, on the flipside it was blissfully simple. He couldn't remember the last time in the past decade, during his flings and tortured entanglements, when he'd been able to relish kissing a woman senseless, let alone talk to her properly. Thankfully he wasn't proving too rusty with Seven's encouragement.

Eventually, their momentary gasps of air weren't sufficient and they had to break off properly. "Are you okay?" Chakotay enquired softly.

"Ja…Yes." Seven replied, vaguely aware that she was grinning like a fool. Yet she didn't care about that any more than the swimming in her brain disturbed her or the warmth flowing through her, diffusing her skin and nerves, was uncomfortable.

Chakotay sat back slightly, taking her in. In her own way, this woman being here, glowing with happiness that illuminated both outer and inner beauty, was more unexpected in his life than being in Earth's orbit again. He already had a suspicion about which would be the most vital in his life in the end.

Seven, always observant, watched his eyes flick between Earth and her face. "What is it?"

Chakotay's eyes went to the planet below once more, then settled on her face. "Preciosa." He murmured to himself, holding his palm against her face.

Seven realised she didn't flinch as he brushed against her ocular implant, and smiled softly at the sentiment, whether directed at Earth or herself. She turned her head to look at Earth herself, holding his hand where it was. "Are your family down there?"

Chakotay straightened up at the question. "A couple of cousins on my mother's side. One is a teacher in Ohio."

Seven half sat up, leaning back against the arm of the couch. "Your sister? Your uncle and his husband?"

Chakotay sighed to himself. "Los Tios never left home." He told her, "Even as the incendiary bombs fell on the fields. Their farm was on the rim of a valley, they told me it had escaped for the most part, but I doubt it." His chest heaved again, "As for my sister, she's back too, returned as soon as the Cardassians withdrew. I thought she would, she never joined the Maquis, but she always had a greater connection with the place than I did. I had to drag her back from the ashes…"

Seven winced, feeling the memory of those ashes burn her own palms. That horrible day had been branded on her brain too by their brief connection. She studied him empathically for a several minutes after he fell silent. She knew better than to open unhealed wounds, but she also knew she'd be doing him a disservice if she recoiled from his history. "Will you go back?" she asked quietly.

Chakotay agitatedly stood up. "I don't know." He admitted haltingly, "It wouldn't be the same." He shook his head and regarded her frankly, "The one thing about my people's beliefs I always unequivocally understood, even as a contrary teen, was the idea that our paths are…communal. Each person has their own gifts but it's when they combine those gifts with those of others that there can be a pueblo, a community. I just thought my gifts could be more secular, that I could explore myself through Starfleet _and_ help my people…" His gruff laugh was bitter.

Seven reflected on his words. "Then…" She began tentatively, "Voyager could be considered a pueblo with its crew." She blushed awkwardly, thinking she'd made a faux pas, revealed cultural inconsideration in her logic.

Chakotay spun to face her, a slow smile of revelation dawning on his face. "¡Exacto!" he exclaimed, "I'd never thought of it like that before, but that's very true."

"And you believe your pueblo at home will be irretrievable." Seven stated, rather than asked, sadly.

"Everyone has been so scattered, and only a fraction of them will ever go back." Chakotay concluded, "The upheaval, the destruction, the memories good and bad… I don't know if I could be surrounded by that again."

"That is understandable."

Chakotay shook his head tiredly, "Even if everything had somehow stayed the same, I don't know if I would go back. My family is loving, but they're also…colourful, eccentric even." Guilt and anxious defensiveness hooded his eyes as he added hurriedly, "Not mentally ill like my abuelo was, no, but gods damned stubbornly alternative." He laughed to himself, "I always felt like they'd skipped me when they were passing out the secret family code."

Seven left the couch and approached him, tentatively touching his arm. "I think…" She started cautiously, "…being alternative can be a sign of resilience. I have lived in a world of grey and colour is preferable." She smirked wryly, "And if anyone is eccentric, they can then accuse _me_ of being doubly so."

Chakotay managed to smile at her, squeezing her hand gratefully. "You could say that, and so could I."

"You can go back home, in time, if you wish."

Chakotay nodded slowly, as always hearing the sense and truth in her words. "What about you?" he asked curiously, "Have you contacted your aunt?"

"Yes." Seven confirmed, "She did not expect my arrival of course. She was in the midst of visiting her younger son at his metrology lab on Andoria, but she insisted on returning at once."

So she should, Chakotay thought, but didn't voice it, Seven didn't take the consideration for granted. Instead he said, "Your cousin?"

"I have two." She replied, guessing his next question.

"Is he travelling with his mother to see you?"

Seven hesitated, "He decided not to. His wife had a colleague who was assimilated, she was disturbed by the idea. I encouraged Irene Hansen not to disrupt her family for my sake…"

Chakotay bristled. Seven had lost both of her parents and most of her life to the Borg, Irene had lost her brother and sister in law. If _they_ could cope with that… He sighed in frustration, uncomfortably aware that he had distrusted, even hated Seven for years on as slim an excuse as Irene's daughter in law.

As if hearing his thoughts, Seven continued, "Irene did not contemplate that argument though, she informed me…in no uncertain terms that I am family to her also." She took a shaky, relieved breath in, "Her transport will arrive here within four days, she's already left."

"Good." Chakotay said emphatically, "I think I'm going to like your aunt."

"I think so too." Seven agreed, but sighed again.

Chakotay guessed what was the matter. "You don't know what to do until she gets here."

"Many crewmates have extended the invitation of my being their guest…" She told him quickly, Chakotay assumed it was a similar list to those who had offered him refuge, "…but at such a time of reunion it would not be appropriate…" She trailed off, then added impatiently, "Chakotay, we both realise that it is more than likely I will be confined with Starfleet Headquarters for the foreseeable future."

"We'll all be spending time there until we're debriefed…" Chakotay conceded reluctantly, knowing that she'd see through any lie he made on her behalf, "But confined? No, none of our crew would stand for that, the Captain would go on the warpath…" They both summoned up a weak smile at that familiar mental image, but it faded at once. Chakotay grasped both of Seven's hands and pressed them to his lips. "No Seven, neither you as an ex-Borg and me as a Maquis…" Seven noticed that he didn't disown the Maquis and was noted his integrity for that, "…are going to be trapped by that, it's over. I admit that it'll be hard, but I promise you corazón, we'll get to go to the forests and the seas…"

Seven closed her eyes briefly, pulling away from him reluctantly to sink back into the couch. "How am I supposed to explain everything to them?" she questioned in frustration, breathing hard as she began to blink rapidly, "I am conflicted. Even the Admiral's actions…" She lifted her bowed head to his, "I will always be grateful for what she did, though I would never have asked it of her…"

"None of us would have." Chakotay murmured.

Seven nodded shortly in acknowledgement, but otherwise continued as if he hadn't spoken. "But I am also…haunted by what has happened. The Collective has been dealt a serious blow, I would have and do want more, they are a threat, but…" She inhaled raggedly, "I know that virus would've made the last moments of those drones', those people's, lives agony. The terror of losing the Hive mind, of being alone in those last moments would've been extreme, and likely caused many to deactivate themselves before the virus even reached them…"

"Seven…" Chakotay broke in gently, "Feeling empathy, pity, even guilt, about what happened to those drones, don't beat yourself up about it." He swallowed hard, "It was a horrific end, and they lost their chance at regaining their lives, but at least their torment is over and they won't be forced to inflict it on anyone else."

"Correct." Seven whispered, but her gaze was still vague, detached. "The Queen tormented me. She threatened the ship, and my sanity, coerced me to…" She gulped, "She even taunted me with Papa, he was to be the one to reassimilate me then…"

Chakotay stared at her, no longer comprehending. "What do you mean? When she spoke to you through your alcove? That's impossible…"

"No." Seven stated woodenly, "I am referring to when I was held hostage within Unimatrix One."

Chakotay was still mentally flailing. "But the Captain rescued you from there. She never saw…"

Seven sighed brokenly, "She would not have recognised him and I did not point him out to her. If I had, she would have attempted to save him and lost everything in the process. I made the decision to leave him there, as the Queen intended."

Chakotay gaped at her, stricken. "Dioses mio!" he muttered unconsciously, kneeling beside her but found he couldn't look into her white face without cursing the Queen violently.

Seven nodded again, like a puppet on a string. "And yet, now that she is gone, I feel…frightened, in a different way. She was so powerful…"

"That will fade." Chakotay murmured thickly while running his hands soothingly over her arms. "Do you think we've dealt a mortal blow to the Borg Seven?"

Seven blinked at that, out of her own memories and back into resigned realism. "Not mortal, the Collective is resilient. It is fractured now, seriously weakened, but not eliminated. Already the protocols to select a new Queen will have been activated, though what we have done may lead to dissension…"

"Several Queens at once? A Borg civil war?"

"It has happened, though not for centuries." Seven confirmed, "Though we should not desire such an outcome, it would be a bigger threat to the Alpha Quadrant. The best outcome would be that the Collective retracts, rebuilds. The Hive mind can be patient when that is the more efficient course of action. It is unlikely that we will see the Collective at peak strength again in our lifetimes, perhaps Miral's generation will also be spared, but after that I cannot predict. The Alpha Quadrant was always seen as a reservoir for new drones, so the threat may grow rather than fade…" She trailed off heaving an exhausted sigh that was verging into tears. "I am going to have to repeat all of this to Starfleet Command over and over…"

Chakotay cradled her to his chest. "Not all of it. Most of it can stay between us."

Seven allowed her head to rest on his shoulder, much as it had after their confrontation in Astrometrics. Thinking about that, his words then, comforted her but made her pull back and look him in the face, with Earth looming poignantly behind her. "I may be a liability outside of Voyager." She reminded him, "I am damaged." She touched his brow fondly when it creased, "You do not need to obey the Admiral's prediction if you do not wish to." She smiled at him faintly, "We're not bound to each other by honour."

"No, we're not, thankfully." Chakotay replied firmly, "B'Elanna would be the first to tell you it's overrated and I'm at a point in my life where I finally agree with her. As for the Admiral, you know how I feel about what she told you."

"That it is irrelevant." Seven stated, then repeated his sentiment more faithfully. "We can't pretend to know the future, even what's going to happen tomorrow. We should live for right now."

"That's what I intend to do, along with all those other people living down there who are each 'damaged' in their own way but getting on with life however they can." Chakotay told her, "But I want you to be with me in particular, is that okay?"

"Within transporter range?" Seven recalled, making him chuckle thickly. "I want that too, very much, whatever the future holds."

* * *

 **A/n: Please review. :)**


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